Chapter 27

Lawful Challenge and Succession Protocol

Silver Edict #24

“The High Chancellor shall persist in power until formally contested; the challenger must secure the endorsement of eighty percent or more of the Ministries to initiate a legitimate challenge.”

ARCHER

“We can’t just leave them!” Tasia yells, yanking free of me and stopping in her tracks.

I growl, running a hand through my hair to avoid doing something stupid like throwing her over my shoulder. We both know I’m not above doing that.

“I’m not. I’m getting you out of here.”

“I’m not fucking leaving you, idiot!”

“Are we seriously having our first fight right now?”

“It’s not our first fight.”

I sigh. “Tasia.” I shoot her a pleading expression. “Something’s going on. I smell death. A lot of it. I need to get you—”

Another scream rings out behind us, and the people in the crowd begin jostling each other, panicking and searching for an exit.

“You need me,” she says. “I can pinpoint grey soul-shades.”

The sickeningly sweet scent is overpowering—more than I’ve ever smelled at one time. It rouses the magic deep in my gut. Something dormant, wild. Something I’ve never wanted to awaken.

Gritting my teeth, I bite down on my initial response. We’re wasting time, and she’s right. If I didn’t feel the way I do about her, I’d let her help. It’s not fair of me to stifle her and refuse to let her help because my heart beats a little harder for her than it does on its own.

“Fine,” I say. “But stay close.”

Focusing my mind, I quickly locate the mental tether leading to my hellhound.

Scathe, I mindspeak. We might need you. Bring Godric.

By now, most of the guests have cleared out. Only about two dozen people remain, and they’re scattered throughout the room, engaging in various activities.

Or, I should say, various acts of destruction.

They all seem to have lost their minds. Fistfights have broken out, and people are violently battering one another. A few folks stand by the buffet table, sticking their hands into the food and tossing it at one another. One woman stands over a man, stabbing him with the heel of her shoe. He’s long dead, his body a piece of tenderized meat.

“Oh Gods,” Tasia says. She gags. “They all—their souls. Grey.” Her voice squeaks, as if she can barely get the words out.

“All of them?” I ask. Now I realize why the scent is so overwhelming. Normally, I smell death in an isolated manner. No more than a few people at once, depending on the situation. Never have I smelled a massacre.

“We need to get out of here,” I mutter. That unsettling magic inside me tries to claw its way out, desperate to get free. It swirls through me, craving release, wanting to be let out. Concentrating, I lock the cage tight, refusing to succumb. I control my abilities, not the other way around.

“We can’t save them,” I say finally.

I can’t save them.

I ignore the guilt rising in me. It’s the truth. Even though I have abilities beyond normal human capability, I’m not all-powerful.

If these people are dying, there’s nothing I can do. Plus, the Scouts will be here any second.

I can’t risk Tasia’s life.

The woman who just murdered a man with her shoe stumbles toward us. Her pink dress is now stained with blood and food, making it look like a sort of macabre tie-dye. As she gets closer, she holds her shoe up and picks up her pace. I’m debating pulling out my gun—though I’ve never actually had to use it before.

With a hiss, the woman lunges.

I’m just about to throw Tasia over my shoulder when she grabs my hand. This time, she’s the one who pulls me along as we run.

I’m relieved that whatever’s happening isn’t affecting Tasia and me.

“Wait, Archer,” she says, jerking on my arm. We slow. She points to a couple of women who are beating each other beside the ballroom entrance. “Those girls…they were snorting something. I thought it was dreamdust.”

Frowning, I clench my jaw. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I try not to snap, because it’s the situation I’m angered by, not her.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “They said it was cocaine, so I—” One of the women, who wears a fox mask, yells something at us. Grey glitter sparkles on her ample chest. “Oh shit fuck shit.”

I don’t bother scolding Tasia for her colorful use of expletives. Instead, I pull her into a run again, and we exit the ballroom at full speed.

As we dart through the massive hallway, Tasia continues to curse. “It was…the dust…” she pants. “I’m sorry.”

We burst out of the building, flying down the stone stairs.

Godric and Scathe run up, and we pause near the halfway mark. Tasia doubles over, catching her breath.

What’s going on? Scathe says. Is she hurt?

“She’s not hurt,” I say. I rub her back in small circles. “Breathe, baby, you’re okay.” I turn my attention to Godric. “It’s a massacre in there. Dust.”

“How many?”

“At least twenty or thirty. Hard to say. They’re all—”

“Where’s Pixel?”

My hand freezes on Tasia’s back.

Pixel.

I left her inside.

Without another word, Godric takes off running toward the building. I let him go. We both know that being around that much death is triggering for me. It could hijack my magic, awakening the power I’ve stifled for so long.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” Tasia says, gulping in another big breath and standing up straight. She stares past me, her eyes roaming the stairs as if she’s searching for something. “That guy—the lab owner?”

Arlo Osiander.

The insufferable cad who’s been snatching up an absurd amount of properties around the PD.

Most notably the man who tried to kiss my girl.

“What about him?” I growl.

“He has no soul-shade.” Tasia squeezes my arm tighter. “I think—” She lowers her voice. “I think he’s fae.”